The Salem Bride
by Get Wisdom
Summary: The winner gets glory. All the rest face certain death. And, this time, the prize is Draco Malfoy. "Ladies and Gentleman, let the 100th Salem Bride tournament begin... Trust me, you don't want to lose." AU. Dhr.


"_It's not about what it is, it's about what it can become." – Dr. Seuss_

**Chapter 01 – The Announcement**

The train ride back to the apartment was unusually quiet. The grungy compartments, decorated with graffiti, would usually be filled with workers, tourists and teenagers riding back to East London for mid-day break; but today there were hardly ten people in the entire train.

Hermione revelled in the little bit of solitude the silent compartment offered, before the train arrived with a peremptory screech at the station. Sighing, she slung her bag across her shoulder and got up, making her way to the carriage door. She jumped down onto the rusty platform, and had gone halfway through the station when she spotted him. Her face lit up. "Harry!"

"And the prodigal baker returns!" Harry grinned, draping an arm around her. "So – show me. What delicious piece of nutrition did you get today?"

Hermione laughed, giving him a friendly push. "Patience, Potter, patience. All good things for those who wait." But, she obligingly rootled about in her bag and pulled out a still hot bun. Harry made a grab for it.

"Excellent! I'm starved!" He broke off a chunk and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Only managed to get one for you today, I'm afraid. The rest I have to save up. Mum's not feeling well again." A worried frown creased her forehead, as they weaved their way out of the underground into the busy London streets.

Harry swallowed thickly, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Don't worry Hermione. Your mum's a fighter. She's been through worse."

She smiled slightly, but the frown still remained. He hurriedly searched for another subject. "So, what news from Ron? I heard he got a promotion."

"He did. He sends you his best wishes and wants you to know that Lavender has recovered slightly from her morning sickness. He's hoping for a girl this time."

"Looks like the Weasley genes have bitten Lavender too," chuckled Harry. "Ginny swears he's going to have an army of kids before he's thirty."

Hermione joined in Harry's laughter, and the mood lightened considerably until, of course, he again changed the topic.

"It's good that you were able to leave in the morning today. You'd have missed the Big, _Mysterious_ Announcement otherwise."

Her smile vanished and was replaced with a scowl. "Well, _I_ am not glad. Mr. Filch cut my salary by an entire quarter because of it! The _miser! _It's a bloody public half-day holiday!"

"How predictably mean. Perhaps you could magically screw off Mrs. Norris's tail in revenge?"

"Hmm. That's actually not a bad idea. It could work."

He popped the last bit of bread into his mouth and dusted off his hands. "So, any ideas for what the Big, Mysterious Announcement is?"

Hermione sniffed crossly. "Who _cares_? And stop calling it that. The whole rigmarole that we're forced to go through this year is pure cruelty at its best anyway."

"Agreed. But," Harry's voice suddenly turned whisper quite. "What if it's you this year? I don't think I'll be able to handle it."

She shot down the idea immediately. "Very unlikely Harry, don't worry. There's only one slip of paper with my name on it, remember?"

"Yeah, your chances are a thousand to one," he said, more to reassure himself than her. "The odds are in your favour."

"And besides, even if I am Drawn, I'd probably put _him_ in very great danger than myself. Sitting on top of his almighty throne, watching the torture of girls for fun; while the entire Wizarding population of East London just shrivels away."

Harry gave a watery chuckle. "True, true. But, still… getting Drawn is no picnic. The only bright thing about it would be the Reward they offer to the Victor's village."

"That's only for the Victor," Hermione points out. "And, even then… I don't know Harry. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can't buy happiness. And it can't bring back the dead."

Harry jammed his hands in his pockets as they arrived in front of a grubby set of flats. "Well, for what it's worth, it had better not be Ginny. I'd die. And, I don't want to lose my best friend too."

"You said it yourself; chances are a thousand to one." She gave him a peck on the cheek, before turning the key in the lock. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

**- II -**

The announcement had been anything but long-awaited, when it appeared in bold on _The Daily Prophet_'s front page. Throughout the year, the Wizarding population had waited with dread for autumn which would bring forth the heraldry newsflashes, pomp and black-market wailings that declared the tournament officially open.

"_**The Salem Bride – 100 Year Anniversary!"**_

The Salem Bride was a competition held once every two years in the Wizarding World. It had initially begun as a scheme the Ministry of Magic had come up with a century ago to distract everyone from the growing poverty and downturn in the economy. It was also a silent warning for good behaviour, held up under the pretence of 'a fairy tale tournament to bring peace and hope to the Nation'.

It was anything but a fairy tale.

The rules were simple. An aristocratic Wizarding family with a rich, single heir would be chosen, and a lottery for all Witches aged seventeen to thirty would be held. Twelve girls would be Drawn out from the lottery bowl, and forced to fight each other to the death until a single victor remained, who will obtain the hand of this 'eligible bachelor'.

The Ministry presented it as a challenge which determined 'modern' Witches physical skills, beauty and knowledge. Hermione presented it as total drivel, hidden under rays of glitter glue.

After all, the Ministry had never been on the receiving end. _They_ had never seen the evil scheming, pools of bloodshed and the bemoanings of the destroyed families of girls who hadn't been as lucky as the victor. _They_ had never seen the unseeing eyes of young girls, wrapped in shrouds, sent to home to the devastated families.

Hermione had.

She ground her teeth as she picked up a day-old copy of the _Prophet_ (_**"Witches prepare yourselves! Your time has come!"**_) from the doormat, and began climbing the stairs. Merlin's _Bloody_ Beard. It was beyond belief that they still had the nerve to shove the tournament up people's faces, as if it was as cheery as chocolate cupcakes.

Five floors later, she pushed the door to the tiny flat open. The cheery air the room exuded made up for its squalor. There were the familiar yellow curtains on the sill, the slightly stale jar of cookies on the counter, the elaborate figure of Leonia the Lucky – a housewarming gift of Mrs. Weasley's. A framed photo of a laughing Hermione, arms slung around her two best friends, hung crookedly on the wall.

She dropped her bag on the table, and took a deep breath. Then resolutely crossing the kitchen floor, she pushed the door of her mum's room open.

The room was dark; the only sliver of light coming from a crack in the curtains. On the frayed bed, a huddled figure, clutched a blanket and listened to the crackly radio playing dimly in the background.

"Mum? I'm home." Hermione's voice was as soft as a feather.

"Hermione! Goodness, you gave me a fright! I didn't hear you." Evelyn Granger struggled to her feet and hugged her daughter, heading with Hermione's help to the kitchen. "How's the bakery?"

"It's okay. Ron slipped me a couple loaves of bread when Mr. Filch wasn't looking." She took the wrapped loaves out of her bag, placing it on the kitchen table. "How are you now? Did you drink the soup?"

"Yes, I'm better now I think. The soup was delicious, dear, though you shouldn't have. I could have made some for myself."

Hermione smiled. "It was my pleasure mum. But, I still think you need something more substantial. Do you think you can eat now?"

"Not right now. And…" Evelyn stopped to cough, her body shaking. Taking deep shuddering breaths, she sat down abruptly. "Ginny owled begging you to come over. She wants you to spend the evening at The Burrow."

"Okay, as long as you'll look after yourself," Hermione said, forcing a glass of water into Evelyn's hands. "She probably wants me to be there for the tournament announcement. You know how jittery she gets."

"After all these years, this game –"

"Tournament," Hermione corrected automatically.

"– still doesn't make sense to me. Watching young girls fighting for a man. You Wizarding folks are strange." Evelyn shook her head. "But, think of it as just a distraction Hermione, otherwise you won't be able to stay sane."

"Mum do you have any idea how much of a struggle most Wizarding families have to put up to survive? And having their daughters murdered in front of their eyes doesn't really help the matter." Hermione exhaled a long breath. "But, there's nothing we can do about it I guess."

"That's the attitude. And don't worry dear. I'm sure you won't get Drawn."

"Oh I'm not worried mum. There'll hardly be a chance for me to get picked out of all the thousands in the Lottery box. It's the only bright light in a very black game."

**- III -**

"Hermione!" called Ginny, as soon as Hermione's toe entered the threshold of The Burrow. "Thank goodness! You're here before we get the announcement! I really don't want to read it alone."

"The only reason I came was to keep you company, Gin," smiled Hermione, settling next to Ginny on the sofa. "Where's everybody else?"

"The twins are still at the joke shop, and I have no idea where Ron is. Bill went out with Fleur, but –" Ginny winced as a resounding clang echoed from the kitchen "– Dad's home. As you can hear."

Mr. Weasley tottered in, carrying an enormous pile of washing. His face breaks into a grin when he sees Hermione. "Hermione, it's so good to see you! I was just going to put this pile of washing away but…" He sighed and dumped the washing basket on the floor. "I can't. I can't do anything until this wretched announcement is over!"

Hermione felt a twinge of sympathy for Arthur. Here was living proof of a man and a father who lived in dread of each Salem Bride. He was battle worn and weary, and he could not rest in peace until his daughter reached the safe age of thirty.

Arthur Weasley settled into an armchair, folding his arms. "Percy said it was a special announcement by the Chosen himself. The owl should be here soon."

Ginny visibly gulped. "Blimey, I really hope it's not awful like it was last time."

"Gin, even if it's really bad, you needn't worry because it's a one in a million chance you'll be Drawn," Hermione said earnestly. "There's only one slip of paper with your name remember?"

Ginny was still pale. Hermione remembered the harrowing story Ginny had told her of Molly… She put an arm around Ginny, and held her tightly. She continued lightly, "Besides, I don't think either Harry or I will allow anything to happen to you even, if you _are_ Drawn. If it comes down to it, we'll march up to the Chosen's door and tell him to go fly a kite!"

Ginny cracked a watery smile.

When Ginny had recovered sufficiently, Mr. Weasley ladled out some broth Angelina had sent. The girls split a bun and was in the middle of chewing, when a sudden _Screek!_ from the window made all three of them leap into the air.

Heart hammering, Hermione turned around slowly to see a fierce-looking screech-owl on the window sill. Ginny rapidly became the colour of porridge and promptly sat back down. Arthur, with trembling fingers, detached the newspaper from the owl's leg and as soon as it was unburdened the owl took off again with another ear-splitting _Screek!_

Arthur, having forgotten his reading glasses, handed the newspaper to Hermione, who with a little difficulty, unfurled the slightly damp copy. The headlines screamed out in bold.

_**ANNOUNCEMENT EXPLICITS! THE REAL REASON UNDER ALL THE TOSH!**_

_This year's chosen must be something, muses Rita Skeeter, 43, acid green quill sharp and ready in her hand. Mr. Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, chief director of the famous Malfoy Enterprises, extremely handsome and extremely charismatic; he is the picture of calm and composure as he states the words which changes the way of most of everything!..._

Hermione races through the words, hardly daring to believe them.

"Well? What is it?" Ginny croaked.

Hermione looked up, eyes glazed. "It's… he's…" She shook her head.

"Tell me! It's bad isn't it?!"

"I can't explain it," Hermione whispered. Her eyes kept returning to one particular paragraph. "I'll just read the important bit aloud."

"'_I know what I'm about to do, in no way compensates for the loss,' Mr. Malfoy states. "But, I hope the Repayment I intend to provide is at least a start. I hope it'll help the families of the Drawn Girls, and I myself will make personally sure that they get it. The money will be from my personal bank account and with my sincere apologies, I give it to the families of the Drawn girls, as a token of my respect for them'…"_

There was silence in the kitchen when she finished. They were all thinking the same thing.

Money could never in a billion years repair a gap in a broken heart or bring a loved one back to their families, but as the Chosen himself had said, it was a start. However miniscule it may be.

Hermione shifted her eyes back to the photograph of Draco Malfoy which accompanied the article. His intense eyes stared back at her from the picture.

Two thoughts flew across her head. The first one was terrifying. The Ministry never allowed good things to happen without a price. The compensation Malfoy was offering meant the intensity of the games this time would be a thousand times increased.

The second one was slightly more soothing. With the almost x-ray like vision of Photograph-Draco Malfoy scanning her, she couldn't help but wonder, had they finally found a Chosen who had a conscience?

* * *

><p><strong>*Note: 'Go fly a kite!' is an expression similar to 'Get lost!' in my country.<strong>

**Reviews are loved as much as chocolate cakes and sunshine… **


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